Binding Vows (2 page)

“I’m sure.”
Not that I care.

“The brochure said at tonight’s feast, the Gypsy Queen will assign the court. Some un-suspecting guests will be given upgraded accommodations and regal costumes to wear for the duration of the fair.”

“I wouldn’t count on that being us, after the reception we just got. It feels like we crashed a party and got caught putting soap in the fountain. I’ll bet most of these people come to these things all the time. Kind of like a cult.”

Tara slipped a cotton camisole over her head then followed it with one of the two gowns she had.

The laces up the back did a marvelous job of acting as a corset. The cut of the dress was low enough to give her minimal bosom the image of cleavage, something Tara secretly longed for.

Cassy had found a second hand store in Hollywood where old costumes were sold after plays struck their sets. Tara had to admit the dresses were perfect. The bimbo at the reception desk might have a problem with the colors and style they chose, Tara mused. Tara’s gown was a beautiful maroon with an empire waist and long flowing sleeves. Cassy’s dress was black with red fringe and pushed her breasts so far up, they damn near flowed over. There was nothing drab about either of them. Tara smiled and 7

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made a mental note to walk by the bimbo and strut.

“It’s not a cult! But I’ll bet you’re right about these people doing this all the time. What’s wrong with that?” Cassy turned around when her dress was secure, and she laced up Tara’s.

“Nothing I guess.”
If you like being a freak.

“People need to escape from reality sometimes. I wonder how many lawyers are out there,
or policemen.”

“I’ll bet most of these people are art students or drama majors. Not much chance of meeting Mr.

Right in this venue.”

“‘Mr. Right-now’ would do for me.” Cassy patted Tara’s hip indicating the lacing-up was complete.

“Oh here.” Cassy reached for a small linen bag held together by a long rope.

“What’s this?” Tara asked.

“It’s a purse. You tie it around the waist and hide it in the folds of your dress, like this.” Cassy demonstrated its use. “That way we don’t leave anything of value behind. It’s not like there’s a lock on the canvas.”

****

After all, what woman didn’t like dressing in a full-length gown? Tara enjoyed the feel of material brushing against her thighs and the wisp of air that sometimes touched her skin. Every woman walked differently in a dress. These costumes really played a part in the whole Renaissance fair experience.

Tara tucked long strands of hair back into a 8

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ponytail because of the heat. Secretly however, she thought if the Gypsy Queen was everything the brochure said perhaps there were scouts watching the crowd. If so, Tara wanted to throw them off. A small tingle of excitement started to build at the thought of duping some hokey palm reader. This weekend, the thrills would have to come from wherever she could find them.

Vendors were everywhere selling wares. Most items had no modern day use to Tara. There were amulets to wear, crystals for luck and ornate gothic crosses for warding off evil spirits.

Tara realized she lacked many medieval day essentials, such as a tin cup and a knife. These would be vital, if she wanted something to drink.

The beverage department offered only three choices, water, beer, and wine. Vendors were happy to pour you what you wanted, but you had to have your own cup. A paper cup was nowhere to be found.

The same salesman told her if she wanted to cut the food served to her, she would have to have a knife. “That is one of the finest daggers I have, my lady.” Gaston stood six foot one, his fake English accent made Tara laugh and Cassy flirt.

“I’ll bet it’s one of the most expensive, too.”

“You do have a keen eye and exceptional taste.

Here you see an ornate Celtic design. These are not only beautiful, but are also very rare pieces of amber.”

“It’s stunning,” Tara whispered while turning the knife over to examine the carvings.

“That it is, my lady. That it is.”

Knowing she would never return to a Renaissance fair again, she haggled over the man’s price, agreeing to spend twice what she suspected her purchase was worth, before walking away.

Once Cassy and Tara heard the official announcement that the Gypsy Queen was seeing all 9

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women, the two made their way to the massive tent to join the others as they all paraded through. The line they stood in rivaled any one of California’s amusement parks during the height of tourist season on a Saturday. It seemed as if they’d been there for over an hour when Tara felt her first sting of sexual discrimination. She knew medieval women held a low station in life, but this was ridiculous.

Only the women were mandated to go through the tent. Some men chose to go in out of curiosity, wondering what happened behind the drawn curtains of the largest, most elaborate tent in the fair. But at least, the men had a choice. Tara, Cassy, and the rest of the women didn’t.

As they inched their way closer to the entrance, an icy chill surrounded Tara’s body. Someone once told her the sensation was caused by a person in the future stepping on your grave. Today she passed it off to hunger and fatigue. Still her body shuddered.

“Hey, are you okay?” Cassy asked when Tara shivered.

“Fine. I’m just cold.”

“Cold? It’s hot out! How can you be cold? You’re not getting sick again are you?”

“No. I’m not getting sick.”

“Good!” Cassy rubbed her hands together as they waited their turn. “Damn, this is so exciting. I wonder what she looks like.”

There were only two groups left in front of them.

“You won’t have to wonder for long.”

“Are you going to say anything,” Cassy lowered her voice and whispered in Tara’s ear, “About being the big ‘V’?”

“If the Gypsy is a real psychic, she should be able to sense something without me saying a word.”

Making small talk with the Gypsy wasn’t high on Tara’s priority list. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could eat.

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A tank of a man, hidden behind a dark brown cloak, stood guard at the entrance to the coveted tent. Every so often, he pulled the cloth back and allowed the next party to enter.

Tara couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. The thick velvety drapes prevented her from seeing in as well. She couldn’t tell how they summoned the next group. There weren’t any visible wireless remotes or radio devices signaling the Hulk to open the drapes. Somehow, he simply knew when it was time for the next group
to go in.

When their turn came and they crossed over the threshold, Tara shivered. If someone from the future stepped on her grave a few minutes ago, he was definitely dancing on it now. Walking inside felt as if they’d stepped into an abyss. She didn’t want to inhale the stale air and couldn’t see in the blinding darkness. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the flicker of candle light. Yet still she could see very little. Tara’s eyes skirted around to find clues divulging the gypsy’s secrets. However, no tempting Adonis stood next to the lone woman in the room.

A voice, frail in tone but firm and demanding, asked them to step forward.

“Let me see you,” the voice commanded from the shadows.

Bold and without hesitation, Tara stood up making sure her frame was within the path of the light. Directly behind her Cassy bumped her side trying to get a better view of the person behind the voice.

Violent shivers ran up and down Tara’s arms.

The gleaming eyes behind the voice raked her, digging deep, seeing all. Tara felt naked, exposed.

The need to flee overwhelmed her hard and fast.

Frozen, Tara heard her friend speaking as if from another realm.

“We are so excited about being here Madame, 11

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Gypsy Queen... Ahh geeze, I’m not sure that’s right.

Is that what we should call you? Or do you have a name?”

The Gypsy’s laugh stiffened Tara’s spine more, if that was possible. The crackling sound grated down deep inside, like nails on a chalkboard. “My name is Gwen. You may call me Madame Gwen.”

She’s lying!
The thought came so quickly it took her by surprise.
Her name isn’t Gwen, but something
similar.

Tara needed to get a better look at this woman.

She couldn’t really see well in the dimly lit room.

She pried her fingernails from the wall and moved closer to get a better look at
Gwen
.

Madame Gwen leaned forward, her face caught in a flicker of light for a brief moment. Her hair, gray as a winter sky, hung long, past her shoulders.

Eyes black as midnight pierced through the dark, watchful as an owl. The crater deep lines carved into her face told Tara she must be in her late eighties.

And she’s obviously never heard of Botox.

The Gypsy laughed, almost as if she heard Tara’s thoughts. “You,” she pointed to Tara. “What brings you to our fine fair? You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I’m having a fabulous time, thank you,” Tara stated with just the right amount of sarcasm. She didn’t like how Madame Gwen’s eyes dilated as she leaned toward her. It didn’t look natural.

“Your tongue speaks false, much like your dress.

Tell me, why do you try to deceive me?” Gwen sat back so only her leathered old hands could be seen.

She folded them in her lap.

Tara held her head high. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The cold crept in despite the outside heat.

“Yes, I think you do.” She dismissed them with the flick of her wrist.

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Tara and Cassy headed toward the door, more than a little confused.

At the doorway, Madame Gwen followed them with her demand. “Wear your hair down, fair maiden. That would be your place while you are with us.” Tara turned around, astonished.

“Come back tomorrow,” she said, her eyes never leaving Tara’s. “I very much want to read that palm of yours.”

A smile crept over Tara’s lips. She’ll be asking for money next, she mused.

“Keep your coin. Who knows? Maybe the stars will deem you both in favor and elevate your time here.”

Tara’s mouth dropped open. Cassy nearly dragged her from the tent.

Gwen’s laughter followed them out.

They didn’t get two feet outside before Cassy clasped both her hands over Tara’s. “I told you she was legit. Wow! That was un-flippin’ believable.”

The warmth of the night found its way back into Tara’s blood stream. “She was a bit surreal.”

“You can say that again.”

Another big burly hooded guy stopped them. He said nothing, but held out his hand.

“What?” Tara asked. “You want money don’t you? I knew it!” she said to Cassy. “It’s all a ploy to extract money.”

Disappointed, Cassy reached in her purse.

“Your binding, young maiden,” he pointed to Tara’s hair.

Tara’s jaw dropped again, “How do you...? How does he know?” She reached to the leather strap holding her hair and pulled it free. “Here! But I want it back before I leave.”

Tara stormed off, unable to shake the chill settling in the pit of her stomach, or the uneasy 13

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feeling of being watched. ****

Gwen removed a strand of Tara’s hair from the binding and placed it in the cauldron. The Gypsy Queen pulled back her lips, exposing yellowed teeth.

Her piercing cackle erupted as she tossed her head back and gave in to the exhilaration of her discovery.

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The darkness closed in, slowing down Duncan and Finlay MacCoinnich’s speed. Riding horses hard after night fell was never wise, especially if the rider didn’t know the landscape.

Sounds and voices drifted on the night wind blowing past them. Light flickered from torches surrounding the encampment.

They rode through with barely a glance from the people. At home, they would stand out against all others. The people of the village would know them by sight and greet them with smiles and blessings.

They were brothers with less than two years between them, and were often mistaken as twins.

Duncan tugged on the reins at what stood as a stable. A young lad, dressed in a worn tunic and brown leggings, came out to help.

The first thing Duncan noticed were the boy’s shoes. He stared at them, baffled. Fin cleared his throat before Duncan managed to bring his attention back to the present, remembering why they were there.

Both brothers dismounted with the grace of seasoned riders. Duncan tossed the boy the reins assuming the lad knew what needed to be done.

“Give him an extra measure of oats, lad. He has come far this day.”

The horse was black as tar and stood over twenty-two hands, dwarfing the child. Once in the child’s grip it whined and pulled.

The lad stumbled.

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Duncan steadied his horse with a few words and a firm hand. “Easy, boy.”

The boy’s father came out when Duncan spoke.

“Oh, let me help you.” He rushed forward, dislodged the straps from his son’s hands.

“But Dad! You said I could get the next one.”

The boy kicked the dust off his Nikes.

“Yes, well... I’ll let you get the next.”

“But you said...”

“They’re too big for you, Travis. Now run along.”

The father turned his attention to Duncan and Fin.

“This is boring!” the boy shouted. He stomped into the temporary stable. “I don’t see why I couldn’t bring my Gameboy.”

“Sorry. He just isn’t in the spirit of things I’m afraid.” The man ran his hand down the stallion’s neck, and regarded the animal with awe. “Wow!